


Promises

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Childhood Friends, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 06:12:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14826863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Gladio knew that he'd never leave Noctis' side. No matter how much of an idiot Noct was.





	Promises

**Author's Note:**

> For day 5 and 6 of Gladio Fluff Week -- Protection and Growing Old

It started with Noctis. Everything seemed to start with Noctis in some way. When he was young, Gladiolus remembered the lectures and meetings, the importance of his duties impressed upon him even when he was young. Often with the smiling, teasing, wide-eyed plea of a younger Noctis nearby, already bored of the lessons and tugging at him to play out in the gardens. When he was in school, the importance was placed on strength and cunning, the history of his family held up like a standard for the rest of the Crownsguard recruits around him— all of them wanting to prove their own worth by trying to take him down in training classes. 

Gladiolus had grown up with the weight of expectations on his shoulders. With the understanding that no one in the world was more important to him than his prince (save for Iris, though he knew that she had been raised to look after herself, and he trusted her sensibilities more than he trusted Noctis unguarded). And he had shouldered it well, he thought. 

His father had once told him that he was lucky that Noctis tended towards his mother’s temperament. That dating had never been an interest for Noctis throughout his life. That venturing out to where princes shouldn’t be wandering had never really come up compared to Regis in his youth. There had never been any quick, midnight excursions beyond the Wall. Or late night romps through the city to the seediest bars, just for the dramatic change in pace and setting. There had been a handful of planned trips, all filed and requested and granted, but never the impromptu rush for the open space beyond the city on a whim. 

Gladiolus had been told that Noctis was tame compared to his father in most regards. He had been prepared for those quiet days spent near the Citadel, the late mornings and later evenings, where the riskiest behaviour Noctis leaned towards was going fishing without warning others. 

No one but the Glaives seemed to understand that the prince was a little hellion when he wanted to be. 

“Do I want to know?”

There was a level of acceptance Gladio tried to maintain when it came to protecting Noctis. An understanding that the kid was good at hiding when he wanted to be. He was good at sitting and listening to plans and rules and all the guidelines that could be laid out for him and his station— and then running headlong into some half-baked scheme. In most cases, and on most days, that was just a plan to meet up with Prompto at some arcade that stayed open late, or hitting a convenience store for a questionable dinner rather than waiting for something actually edible at the Citadel or at the apartment, or slipping out before anyone thought to fill him in on the day’s schedule. 

In other instances, Gladio knew that he often had to protect Noctis from himself. Like today, out in the Glaives’ training grounds, where the prince had managed to get himself trapped on an outcrop of broken pillar. In stasis. 

“Shut up, Gladio,” Noctis called down to him, head cradled between his hands. 

Gladio knew this routine. He had seen Noctis push himself to stasis time and time again as the prince pushed his limits. He had no talent for the magic, not like his father once did; Ignis said that it was like a headache on his peripheral, spreading to him through the elemental link Ignis had trained with. It was like a burning, throbbing headache as the magic expanded and expended itself too quickly, leaving the shell behind and refilling too slowly. There were boosts and tricks and ways they had all learnt to work their way around the limitation without relying on elixirs. 

And there were times when they just had to wait it out.

The Glaives had cleared out once he arrived. Ulric offering them both an excuse to explore the area of the city that neither often went to. But they had wanted to train. Gladio had wanted to get his hits in too. He had recognised the signs of oncoming stasis after the Glaives headed out, and thought that Noctis had the sense to recognise them too. 

“I didn’t say anything.”

It was easier to wait it out. To let Noctis groan for a while before he felt like he could warp back to safety without tearing himself apart. To settle in the shade of the offending pillar and just wait. 

“You want to.”

“I told you so.”

“Shut up.”

In the city, the worst that Noctis ever seemed to face was the media. There were nights when they had just gone out for pizza, for sushi, for something quiet and terrible for them, and the cloak of anonymity had been lifted by some sharp-eyed idiot with a camera and a deadline. 

He had watched Noctis flinch and recoil from the sudden attention far too often. 

“You coming down any time soon?”

“No. I live here now.”

“I’ll tell Iggy.”

“Don’t you dare.”

He had watched the confident young man in his care suddenly hunch forward and duck down when the first shout of ‘your highness’ tried to catch his attention. He had watched as the boy he used to know— shy, soft spoken, wary of the world after being hurt— emerged and flinched away from the sudden onslaught of noise and light and attention. 

Protection came in far too many forms for Gladio to really try to differentiate. 

In those situations, it was throwing an arm around Noctis and acting as a literal Shield between his prince and the offenders. It was relying on his bulk and reputation and glare to give Noctis the space to get back home. All while muttering the quick promises of ‘I got you’ and ‘we’ll order in’ to keep Noctis from looking up when someone called out to him. Gladio made the pictures unusable in proper media sources, but the tabloids a week later could be held up and laughed over at the new rumours. 

“You know he’d come with an elixir for you, or something.”

“And a lecture for you.”

“Right. Leaving Specs out of it. You getting there?”

“No.”

Gladio knew what his future looked like. He knew that he would be standing by the throne forever, seated on the Council forever. He knew that he would still be strong well after the magic started to burn away at Noctis, and the fear that consumed them now over that turned to a resignation of their stations. He knew that he would support Noctis, literally holding him as needed as his father did for the king on the bad days. He knew that they’d be side-by-side for as long as they could manage, the question of heirs and the future already on the edges of their minds. 

He had seen his father supporting Regis. He had watched when they didn’t realise he was there, as Regis stumbled under his own exhaustion on the bad days, the magic ripping through him as the Glaives handled the siege lines in Cavaugh. His father had been careful, gentle, an offered arm and a smile. He had heard them teasing each other more times than he could count— the little jokes shared between them, his father’s exasperation at Regis’ humour, the years built around them. 

He could see his future like that. 

“I’m not going anywhere. Take your time, Noct.”

Noctis already leaned on him during the bad days— the days when his old wounds throbbed and ached. Noctis already laughed at the dumb jokes between them— the ones that left Prompto shaking his head in confusion and Ignis just shrugging them off. 

But Noctis also climbed into his lap when overwhelmed. He settled easily as Gladio ignored the intrusion as best he could, pretending to be fixated on his book rather than his petulant prince. Noctis also tucked his head close and muttered soft requests for the next chapter, for the sound of Gladio’s voice to rumble in his ear. 

Gladio wondered if they would keep that when they were older. When they were too busy tending the kingdom to sneak out on morning fishing trips, or late night pizza runs. He wondered if, when they were old, Noctis would still steal his hoodies and disappear with them. He wondered if Noctis, as regal and powerful as king would still lean against him with a soft whine and a plea for the next piece of whatever Gladio was reading. 

The training dagger that Noctis had been using struck first, with the prince a half-second later. He tumbled to the ground in a shower of crystalline sparks and the chime of crystal striking the dirt. The dust rose around him in a cloud and Gladio scrambled to his feet to catch Noctis before he fell again, still thrown back into stasis by the single warp. Still staggered by the stubborn refusal to accept his limits. 

“You could have waited, Noct.”

“I was getting bored,” it was bit out through clenched teeth and Gladio huffed his response, dragging Noctis back against him to rest. 

They could search the Glaives’ supplies for the right elixir, the right concoction to restore Noctis enough to get home. They could have moved now, as they used to, with Gladio piggybacking the prince. Like they were children. 

Instead, Noctis tucked his head under Gladio’s chin to hide from the glare of the afternoon sun. And Gladio stretched to retrieve his book.


End file.
